


In Silence, Remembrance

by missingnolovefic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alistair is Grim, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by <a href="http://sixlilypetals.tumblr.com">sixlilypetals</a>: Okay, so think of Alistair who’s been kicked out of the Wardens and ends up a drunk in Kirkwall.  Bull finds him, recruits him, and once he’s sober, he doesn’t feel like talking so Bull names him Grim.  </p><p>Skip forward to Inquisition - Lavellan Inquisitor does missions with Bull and his Chargers (because who wouldn’t take the whole team???)  and is intrigued with Grim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Silence, Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Six_Lily_Petals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Lily_Petals/gifts).



> so... this is a lot less fluffy and more confessions in the dark while cuddling, oops? Still, I hope you like it :')
> 
> this was written entirely on my phone, so if you see typos please point them out!

Lavellan loved excursions with Bull and his Chargers. They were a rambunctious bunch and never failed to make her laugh. She got along well with Skinner and Krem, and sometimes when they’d looked to deep into their cups she would sit down with Dalish and speak of the old days in the old tongue.

She missed home. The campfires and the laughter of children, the Keeper’s gentle guidance and the elders’ wisdom. By the gods, she hoped she did right by them.

The leadership of the inquisition was a heavy burden, the fate of the entire world hung in the balance.

Sometimes it helped to sit with them and laugh, let them chase the gloomy thoughts away. At other times she would stare pensively into the fire while she let their banter and stories wash over her. They were good about letting her be, Bull’s too sharp gaze lingering on her hunched form.

And then there were times where even their company grated on her nerves, too loud, too much.

“May I sit here?” Lavellan asked politely. She couldn’t go too far off without one of the guards following her, but maybe they’d leave her be if she had company.

Grim gave her a wary look but nodded sharply.

Lavellan dropped down on the rocky riverside, watching the water pass by peacefully. She’d almost forgotten about her companion by the time he moved. She eyed him from the corner of her eyes as he quietly stood up.

Grim was a mystery to her. She’d never heard him say a word, didn’t know a single thing about him, she realized. He was a silent shadow, a capable fighter. He blended in, easily forgotten. _Too easy_ , she thought, mulling that over.

Grim gave her a nod and turned to leave.

“Wait!” she called impulsively, scrambling up onto her shaky legs. The rocks were slick under her bare feet, and she stumbled up the hill. A hand appeared in her view, and Lavellan startled.

She followed the arm up to Grim’s solemn face and blinked. Then, with a small smile for the silent man, she accepted his offer and let him help her up the slope.

Really, she thought as he accompanied her back to camp, his gruff exterior seemed more a mask for his fragile heart than anything else. She wondered what else he was hiding. Out of all the Chargers she knew the least of Grim. And suddenly she felt the urge to ask him, to find out more-

Lavellan swallowed.

In her experience it was tragedy that caused people to close off. And with that nickname of his, his past had to be quite…

Well.

 _Grim._

 

* * *

 

Lavellan found Grand Enchanter Fiona staring out of a window high up in the mages’ tower. Lavellan cocked her head. There was a tightness around her eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. She looked thoughtful, Lavellan decided, and a little sad. Wistful, maybe.

“You do realize you’re not restricted to the tower areas, surely,” she ventured carefully as she sidled up to the older woman. Fiona sighed, turning to face her with a wry smile.

“Inquisitor,” she greeted, and Lavellan nodded at her in acknowledgement. “We do realize. Yet most prefer we keep to ourselves. Not everyone is as open-minded as you.”

Lavellan chuckled mirthlessly. “You remind me of my Keeper,” she admitted, absent-mindedly twirling a loose braid around her finger. “I never quite understood why _shemlen_ fear magic so.”

“They fear what they do not understand,” Fiona replied calmly, and Lavellan shot her a sharp look. “Their history with mages has proven… volatile.”

“That shouldn’t stop them from getting to know the individuals, judge them on their own merits,” Lavellan pointed out, eyes narrowing.

“It shouldn’t, yes,” Fiona agreed mildly, giving her a long look. “And yet you refer to them as _shemlen_.”

Lavellan stewed on that for a while as Fiona returned to her window. She kept shooting glances at the other woman, wondering what had her so captivated, but wary after the soft reprimand. Finally though, her curiosity won.

“What has trapped your attention?” Lavellan asked, stepping up to peer out of the window. The stable-lads were carting hay to the stables, getting ready to feed the numerous beasts. Sera was watching them from her place on the tavern roof, throwing something small at them. Pebbles, maybe?

In the training yard, the Chargers had just finished their playtime. Skinner, Krem and Grim were wrestling in the mud, Dalish cat-calling them from the sides. They’d drawn something of a crowd, but people were slowly dissipating, realizing that training was over for the day.

She couldn’t help the way her eyes were drawn to Grim, the muscles of his arms bulging as he struggled to gain the upper hand on Krem, only for Skinner to jump on his back. Her gaze lingered on his glistening skin in the late afternoon sun.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Chargers lately,” Fiona commented, ripping her from her entranced thoughts.

“They are good people,” Lavellan shot back and the Grand Enchanter arched an unimpressed brow at her.

“You consider them… allies,” Fiona said, picking her words with care. “The Qunari spy and his misfits. A Tevinter soldier, a-”

“I thought you got along well enough with Dorian,” Lavellan interrupted, bristling. Her heart beat hard and fast against her ribcage. Fiona paused, watching her impassively, her face unreadable.

“I do respect Messere Pavus’ knowledge,” she conceded, her clear eyes piercing through Lavellan. “Yet that does not change my concerns regarding your overwhelming… _fondness_ for this troop of mercenaries.”

“They are my friends,” Lavellan insisted, head held high. “If you have concerns over their presence here in Skyhold, I will, of course, duly consider them. If they are well-founded, that is.”

Their eyes met, neither of them budging as they stared one another down. Finally, the Grand Enchanter’s lashes swept down, a pleased smile flitting over her face.

“As you say, Inquisitor,” she gave in gracefully with a nod of her head.

Turning back to the window, they watched as the Chargers slapped each other on the back, arms thrown over shoulders in camaraderie. They left for the barracks in a tightly knit group. Lavellan grinned, noticing that Skinner and Dalish had teamed up on Grim and were heckling the poor man over something or other.

“You are defensive when someone speaks ill of your friends,” Fiona noted, glancing at Lavellan from the corner of her eyes. When the younger woman opened her mouth to object, she added, “It is a good trait to look for in a friend, but you must consider your position first.”

“And what good does all this power do, if I can’t even help my friends?” Lavellan bristled, whirling on the older woman.

“Peace, Inquisitor.” Fiona laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. “A woman in your position has hard decisions to make. It doesn’t get any easier, so be aware of the pitfalls before you walk into a trap.”

Lavellan was hit by the sudden realization that despite how much training she’d had, Fiona was thrust into a difficult position as well. She might have had more time to come to terms with it - as First Enchanter and then Grand Enchanter - but still. She was leading the mages in uncertain times, in uncharted territory.

Perhaps, she thought as she considered the older woman, they had more in common than she assumed.

“I will keep your advice in mind,” Lavellan acknowledged with a nod, mind still whirring as she tried to place this new revelation.

“A mother can’t help but worry,” Fiona replied absentmindedly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I didn’t realize you had children,” Lavellan remarked distractedly.

“We weren’t allowed to have children, in the circle,” Fiona said, voice shaking slightly. “And if a mage finds themself pregnant, they’re not allowed to keep the child.”

That drew Lavellan’s attention. She stared at the older woman, horrified.

“You mean-?”

“I have a boy,” she interrupted the inquisitor, eyes focused on the courtyard. “I have a boy and a name he was given, and I am lucky to have that much. I was assured that he was raised by a proper family by people I… trusted.”

She snorts, before visibly gathering himself.

“That is more than any of the others can say.” She turned stormy eyes on Lavellan, a blank mask descending over her features. “Is there something you needed, Inquisitor?”

Lavellan shook her head, unable and maybe unwilling to remember what she came here for. With a last glance out of the window, she made her excuses and hastily left.

 

* * *

 

“Inquisitor,” Grim rumbled as she came up beside him.

“Please, call me Mihari,” she said impulsively, carefully avoiding his gaze by checking on the new recruits’ training. Commander Cullen had his work cut out for him, she thought.

At her side, Grim hesitated. She watched him from the corner of her eyes as he chewed on his lower lip. Finally, he offered, “Alistair.”

“Pardon?” Lavellan turned her head to catch his gaze, caught off-guard. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Alistair,” Grim repeated, squaring his shoulders. “It’s my name.”

“Alistair,” she echoed, letting the name roll over her tongue. It suited him, somehow. Her lips twitched up into a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you,” he fumbled over his words, tongue probably not used to forming speech after his long-term silence. It warmed her heart, that he’d broken the habit for _her_. It was an incredible sign of trust and made her heart flutter. With one last glance at the recruits, she stepped away from the fence, her hand grazing Grim’s- _Alistair’s_.

“I will see you later, right?” she asked and hated herself for how uncertain it sounded. But Alistair just nodded, a small smile twisting his lips upward. She smiled back widely, waving goodbye. She had duties to see to.

 

* * *

 

Lavellan walked into the tavern to general shouts of delight, and many tried to gesture her over to their table. She smiled and waved, but made her way more or less straight towards the table the Chargers had gathered at. Stitches saw her first, yelling something to the others, only for Krem to call back something equally indistinguishable amidst all the noise of the bar.

She laughed, nudging at Dalish with her elbows to make room between the elf and Grim. Squeezing herself into place, she was immediately greeted by pitcher of watery ale by an excitable Skinner.

“Let’s toast to her Highquizziness!” Sera shouted from where she was sitting cross-legged on the table. “Hip hip-”

“Hurray!” the Chargers chorused, lifting their jugs high into the air. Ale went everywhere, and Lavellan giggled, leaning against Grim’s side to dodge Dalish’s mug as the elven woman waved it around.

“To victory!” Krem cheered, and the crowd roared their approval. “Another round!”

The bartender came by with several pitchers, and Krem blushed deeply as she leaned over his shoulder to set down the tray. Stitches and Rocky distributed the new alcohol evenly, but Grim just shook his head silently when Stitches offered him one. With a raised eyebrow, the medic shrugged and put the ale in the middle of the table, where it was quickly snatched up by Sera.

Lavellan nudged him subtly, smiling up at him when he turned to look at her. His expression softened, and he gave her a tight grin.

They both missed the sharp look Bull shot them, eyeballing them thoughtfully.

 

* * *

 

It felt natural to fall into bed together.

Alistair kissed her, the taste of celebratory ale still on his lips. She chuckled against his mouth and dragged him through the shadows until they reached her quarters.

Laughing, she pushed him against the wall, biting at his plump lower lip. He gasped into the kiss, arms wrapping around her waist. They were sweaty and dirty from the long battle and trek through the mountains. With a giggle, she danced out of his arms and over to the bathtub. The maids had left buckets of semi-cold water for her, but at least there was a fire roaring in the fireplace next to the tub.

“Let’s wash off first, shall we?” Lavellan suggested with a smirk.

“What, in front of each other?” Alistair blurted out and blushed darkly. Lavellan laughed.

“Get over here and help me out of this blasted armor,” Lavellan snarked, tugging on a bent, metal clasp. Carefully, hesitantly, Alistair joined her by the tub and pried it open. Lavellan chuckled and returned the favor.

Afterwards, Alistair sat down in the armchair by the balcony, moodily staring off into the dark afternoon. Lavellan joined him, a sheet tied loosely around her form. She straddled his lap, slinging her arms around his shoulders as she leaned into his side. He raised an arm, wrapping it around her waist and hugging her close.

“Duncan,” he said finally, staring out into the distance. Despite everything they had shared, he was still a man of few words.

“Your father?” Lavellan asked hesitantly, laying her head on Alistair’s shoulder. He snorted.

“Something like that.” He shook his head, frowning darkly. “More than my sire ever was, certainly.”

They sat in silence, watching the storm hit the mountain range. Lightning struck, illuminating the dark, rolling clouds. The mark on her hand itched, pulsing faintly.

Finally, she turned away from nature’s spectacle and searched Alistair’s face instead.

“What happened?” she inquired softly, voice nearly drowned out by the roar of thunder. Alistair dropped his eyes, hanging his head.

“He died,” he whispered hoarsely, turning his face away from her. “I- There was a battle.”

Alistair fell silent again. Lavellan started rubbing circles into his forearm and chest. A quiet reminder of the present, a reassurance. _I’m here,_ she wanted to say, but swallowed the words before they could escape. _Whenever you’re ready, I will listen._

With a shuddering inhale, Alistair looked up. His eyes were glistening as they met hers, and she leaned forward to bump their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and simply breathed for a moment.

“During the Blight.”

He buried his nose into her loose hair, and Lavellan held still in his arms, breathing in and out in a calming manner. Slowly, he started to match her subconsciously.

“He was… betrayed. A lot of good man died that day.” He sighed, his words nearly hidden in the noise of the storm. “All for one man’s pride.”

Alistair didn’t say anything else that night, and Lavellan decided not to press. Instead she moved them over to her bed, where it was easier to cuddle. They fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was terribly innocent, for their first night together.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t you ever get sick of it?” Alistair asked one day out of the blue. “Listening to everyone’s tragic backstory?”

Lavellan hummed thoughtfully, leaning back against his chest and watched as Krem gesticulated rudely at the innkeeper. Looked like they had to stay the night elsewhere. She made a mental note to avoid this particular inn in the future, and let sweet Josie deal with the fallout.

She offered him the last of the cheese she'd rescued from the rations, and he broke it in half to share with her solemnly.

“I have you to listen to mine,” she pointed out, putting more of her weight against his solid form. “Besides, my backstory is almost _boring_ compared to anyone else’s.”

Alistair snorted but didn’t protest. Lavellan grinned around her cheese. _Win._

 

* * *

 

“I used to be a Grey Warden,” Alistair mentioned casually the next time they’re alone.

Rain dropped rhythmically against their tent, and Lavellan had just finished retelling another halla story. She narrowed her eyes and stayed quiet, listening to the soft sounds of nature and their joined breathing. Whenever Alistair spoke, it was deliberate. The taciturn man might have opened up to her, but he still kept his silence.

Brooding, as Cassandra would call it.

“ _Am_ a Grey Warden.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not something you can really leave behind.”

She was drawing incomprehensible patterns on his chest, his arms wrapped around her. They were both still mostly clothed, wary of the dangers out here and always prepared.

“You knew the Hero of Ferelden, then?” Lavellan inquired curiously, and Alistair stiffened in her arms.

“Perhaps,” he replied evasively, and the silence grew awkward between them.

“At least,” he finally continued, avoiding her steady gaze, “I thought I knew her. She promised-”

He cut off, his mouth a harsh line. He caught her eyes and stared down at her grimly, evaluating her, maybe. She kept her body language open and inviting, while feeling the tension coil in her chest.

Alistair exhaled sharply.

“Well. I don’t like remembering those days.”

“How’d you meet Bull, then?” Lavellan asked, guessing Alistair would rather change the topic. Besides, she had wondered many times.

Alistair laughed, startled.

“I’ve never liked remembering, so I drank until I couldn’t think. How exactly it happened is a bit of a blur,” he admitted, blushing lightly.

“You, a roving drunk?” Lavellan teased gently, but her stomach curled tightly. She had noticed he had stopped drinking as much since they got to know each other, but she hadn’t made the connection before. So she put on a strained smile. “Can’t imagine.”

“You laugh, but I was really quite mopey,” Alistair continued, chuckling. “Chief found me in this little hellhole on the coast in the Free Marches. Lots of Fereldan refugees drinking away their sorrows, what’s one more man, right?”

He grinned self-deprecatingly, and Lavellan couldn’t take it. It felt like her heart was breaking. She cupped his cheek and drew him in, lips brushing together chastely.

“That’s not you anymore,” she declared hotly and silenced his protest with a searing kiss. When they broke apart, she continued, staring intently into his eyes.

“It’s _not,_ ” she insisted, searching his face. “You made something out of yourself. You dragged yourself out of that hole and became a hell of a fighter. You made it _here_.”

“I had help!” Alistair objected, but his lips twitched upward.

“So what?” Lavellan asked hotly, straddling his chest and cupping his face between her hand. “Everyone needs help. Doesn’t make you any less the man you are right now. The man I-” Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to press on. “The man I love.”

He stared at her, long and hard.

“I don’t deserve you,” Alistair whispered, knuckles brushing over her cheekbone. She bared her teeth at him.

“Then _earn it._ ”

Startled, Alistair let out a chuckle. He kissed her, gently and longingly. After a while, they broke apart again, and Lavellan settled back down against his side.

“The Grey Wardens have a motto,” Alistair mused, quoting, “ _In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice._ ”

“That sounds very… dire,” Lavellan commented, snuggling closer.

“It does, huh,” Alistair hummed, pressing a kiss into her hair.


End file.
